Have You Heard The One--?
by Manchester
Summary: In the Buffyverse, ANYTHING can exist for real; such as magic, vampires, other demons, Old Ones, and most terrifying of all…supremely bad jokes as presented here. (Feel free anytime to flee for the hills.)
1. Chapter 1

Just after sunset with the merest glimmer of tonight's full moon being seen in the skies as this glowing orb started to rise from behind Sunnydale's coastal hills, Xander Harris strolled down a front pathway towards the luxurious mansion which was the destination for two members of the Scooby Gang. Accompany the high school student was Xander's companion in their latest get-rich-quick scheme.

Beside him sauntered a leashed canine, who was giving their upcoming location distinctly considering looks. These thoughtful glances made by the furry, four-legged beast were also somewhat sleepy in nature, since Daniel Osbourne in his werewolf form was feeling quite mellow from all the veterinary tranquilizers running through the laid-back musician's bloodstream.

* * *

The evening's caper had started elsewhere much earlier. To be precise, that very morning at Sunnydale High. Dodging through the crowded school corridors during first period, an eager Xander then made a bee-line towards the usual gathering spot for the Scoobies. He arrived at the closed library doors, and paused there for a moment. This gave him the opportunity to catch his breath, tuck today's edition of the local paper under one arm, and to then casually amble into the book-filled room deserted save for another young man.

To Xander's delight, the exact guy he'd been looking for was sitting alone at his usual spot at the main library table, placidly strumming on his guitar. Finishing the chord, Oz gave a fractional nod of acceptance at where Xander plunked himself down on the other side of the table.

"Hey, Oz!"

"Xan."

The teenager with the blue hair would have been content enough with that low-key greeting for his friend, except Xander himself asked, "Any luck with your van since yesterday?"

Oz lifted a shoulder in minimal effort, following this with, "Nope. Mechanic at the repair shop says the engine's totaled. Needs a new one, or a completely different ride. Serious bucks, either way."

"Yeah, about that…," trailed off Xander as he took out from under his arm and brandished the newspaper he'd been carrying in Oz's direction.

Not sure what Xan was doing but making a guess anyway, Oz interjected, "Already checked the want ads. No part-time jobs available, except working at the Doublemeat Place. Don't want to, it smells kind of weird in the kitchen there."

Xander lifted a thoughtful eyebrow at hearing the last. He nevertheless shrugged while opening up and re-folding the newspaper to a specific page. Shoving this edition under Oz's nose, Xander left the paper there on the table while enthusiastically declaring, "Not that! Check out what's here! I'm absolutely sure you didn't see it before!" An indicating forefinger tapped a certain story displayed just above in the middle of the newspaper.

Giving Xander a faintly puzzled look, Oz glanced down to start reading about how somebody had…_lost their dog?_ His bewilderment growing at every line, Oz then actually had his lips part in surprise at seeing exactly how much this grieving pet owner wanted their little Sweetums back:

"Ten thousand dollars?!"

"Yup!" contributed Xander, grinning from ear to ear. He went on in this same excited mood, "Wanna know what the really good part is?"

Oz just stared at where Xan was actually bouncing up and down with glee in his chair, before hazarding, "You already found the dog?"

Xander's attitude abruptly shifted from smug eagerness into genuine cynicism. He snorted, "Hellooooo, this is Sunnydale, Oz! That pooch's already been turned into a tasty stew for some demon's dinner!" Adding under his breath, Xander muttered, "If it wasn't probably served raw, that is."

Oz nodded. "Point. So what, we still go look for the dog anyway?"

"No!" huffed Xander. "The dog's important, but not like that! Here, take a gander at this!" At his final words, Xander reached across the table to grab and flip over the newspaper, to show what was present on the lower half under the center fold.

This time, Oz had a sincere expression of absolute shock pass over his normally-deadpan face. Disregarding Xander's sudden snickers, Oz gaped at the picture printed in the newspaper. That studio photograph showed how a champion sheepdog's owner was posing with his pride and joy, a sleekly-brushed male animal which yet bore a remarkably close approximation resembling a hirsute Mr. Osbourne during his own bad-hair nights.

Finally lifting his disbelieving gaze to where Xander was smirking back at him, Oz numbly heard from his friend, "Here's the plan: we show up at the rich guy's house with you in your wolfy shape, he thinks you're his little puppy who's been through some rough times, I leave after collecting the reward from him, you hang around there for maybe a hour or so before making a break for it, and when we get together again, we split the loot fifty-fifty!"

Taking a deep, calming breath, Oz clutched at his guitar to next flick a calloused fingertip against a steel string. As the piercing note rang through the library, Oz bit out his exasperated opinion:

"Dishonest."

Xander rolled his eyes in frustration before snapping back, "Didn't you notice where the story said that dog lived? It's Sunnydale's Millionaire Row, the same spot where Cordy and her well-heeled neighbors use hundred-dollar bills for toilet paper! Ten thousand's like chicken feed for them!"

Seeing from Oz's stubborn expression that this argument wasn't working, Xander tried another line of reasoning. "Look, how about this? We can consider the money an advance on searching for the damn dog. If everything goes right, you'll get put in the same kennel, or hell, maybe his own bedroom that's bigger than both our houses combined! This gives you a chance to memorize the dog's smell, so after you escape, we really try to track him down. Even if we don't find the critter - 'cause like I said, he's demon chow - we made a honest effort at the job, so the big bucks are ours fair and square."

The disapproving twist of Oz's lips thinned slightly at hearing this. All the same, another note hummed in the air along with a laconic word:

"Dangerous."

Brightening up at the evidence of his partner in crime beginning to weaken, Xander jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards at where the librarian's desk was in the large room. "G-man's got enough snooze juice there to send a whole elephant herd into dreamland. We load you up with it, keeping you all nice and relaxed, and I'll stash the tranquilizer gun outside the place we visit, just in case of any emergencies. C'mon, man, you can't say you don't need the cash!"

After some more moments of silent contemplation during which Xander managed to keep his own mouth shut while Oz thought it over, a last parting shot with musical accompaniment came from the smaller student:

"Dumb."

Relaxing in his chair due to knowing he was on the verge of victory, Xander tossed off, "For five grand, I'll follow through with even dumber stuff than that anytime! It's not like we're doing something even more stupid like, gee, going up against vamps and other monsters every night without those cheap Council bastards in England handing over a single penny to any of us risking our lives here! Last chance, Oz. You in or out?"

Instead of replying, the other teenager began playing a sprightly tune on his guitar. When he recognized the song, Xander started guffawing out loud, to then change his mirth into the barking chorus of 'How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?': "_Arf! Arf!_"

* * *

When the doorbell of his employer's Sunnydale residence sounded, William Featherstone III sighed in real vexation. This butler (who was also the son and grandson of butlers) had thought with the onset of dusk that his hectic day was finally over. Ever since this morning's edition of the local newspaper had come out, it'd been one damned reward-seeker after the other showing up at the front door. To make matters worse, all of those greedy, pestiferous people had been dragging along with them various yapping, drooling, pissing, and defecating dogs of all shapes, sizes, colors, et cetera, while tenaciously insisting _this_ one was the missing animal worth five figures in American currency, and they wanted their money right now!

Unfortunately for all of those rude people, Featherstone had been the one ordered to take care of the original beast in the first place. Which meant that he knew exactly what this same dog had looked like before the canine's disappearance a week ago. Nonetheless, the butler soon became increasingly irritated at those idiotic interlopers showing up today who refused to accept his word for it. There'd even been actual threats to contact his employer in person and complain to him about this.

*Good luck with that,* mentally snorted Featherstone. Mr. Humphries had left Sunnydale for business reasons the previous day after his press interview, and he wouldn't be returning for some time. It'd been left to the butler to deal with the consequences of looking over the outrageous claimants for the return of his employer's pet, all to no avail. By now, Featherstone was truly fed up to his back teeth with the whole ridiculous business, so much that this man responsible for the mansion's operation had started using a specific curt dismissal for the more absurd applicants, and then on all the rest of them whether it applied or not to these annoyances.

With an actual dangerous glint in his eye, Featherstone marched to the front door, opened it while staying safely well behind the now-ajar portal, gave one disdainful glance at the young man there and his admittedly similar but still completely different animal, and proclaimed to them both before firmly shutting the door into their startled faces:

"When we said we were missing a shaggy dog, we didn't mean _that_ shaggy!"


	2. Chapter 2

Simply because Spike couldn't act like a proper demon and do the usual bout of torture and murder at one particular time and location, the Buffyverse was forced to endure decades of this joke (just like our own universe)...

* * *

"You want me to do _what?!_" blurted out a disbelieving vampire during sometime in the early part of the 20th century.

Standing in the pouring rain outside a house a few miles from a rural Pennsylvania village but near to the railroad tracks where he'd hopped off a passing train earlier tonight, Spike had his paranoia abruptly surge to record levels inside his mind. That incredible offer just made by the bewhiskered man inside the house _had_ to be some sort of trap or plot against an invited Spike about to enter this dwelling and then promptly slaughter everyone there. Why else would the old bloke have come out with this really suspicious proposition?

Spike warily backed up from the warm, dry interior of the oil lamp-lit house where two people were gazing in mutual surprise at how oddly their latest visitor was behaving now. This pair of humans then saw how the blond man soaked to the skin took another few steps away, mud squelching under his boots, as he mistrustfully glanced around in the absolute darkness filled with a heavy cloudburst from above.

He damn well couldn't see, hear, or smell anything in this filthy weather, so it was far past time for Spike to speedily sod off before whomever was lying in wait attacked with their stake or holy water at hand. Before then, at least the vampire could have the last word.

"Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that to finish me off, gaffer! I don't know or care how you figured out who I am, but that bloody stupid invitation was just too overdone!"

With a final sneer directed at the gaping pair standing behind the open doorway, Spike whirled around and rapidly ran away out of sight.

A few moments later, the younger of the two people in the house stepped forward and she closed the door. This bewildered girl then turned to her father, plaintively asking him, "Paw, what on earth was he talking about?"

Tugging with equal perplexity at his beard, the man eventually answered his child, "I haven't the slightest idea, honey. Never mind, let's get back to our dinner."

A couple of minutes later, there came another knock on the house's front door. Tossing his napkin onto the table by his plate, the man declared with evident satisfaction in his voice, "I thought so! It took him long enough to change his mind!"

Getting up from his chair, this older male headed once more towards the door, followed along by his offspring also leaving her own familiar spot at the table. Except, when these two people opened their door to welcome whomever was there, they saw an entirely different person outside the porch in the still-drenching rain rather than the peculiar stranger also there a short while ago.

This newcomer dressed in a dripping hat and coat while carrying a small suitcase tucked under one arm blinked at the astonished looks he was getting from both the weather-beaten guy and the very pretty girl standing in their home. Clearing his throat, that outsider appealed, "Hello, folks. My car's stuck in the mud down the road. Can I stay here until morning, and make a phone call to have it towed then?"

Staring past the man in the rain, with a frown showing among the part of his face not hidden by any facial foliage, the puzzled homeowner distractedly replied, "We don't have a phone, mister. Say, did you see anyone else out there a minute ago?"

"Huh?" blankly replied the newcomer. "No, why?"

"Oh, nothing," broke in the girl while sizing up the evidently prosperous arrival. "Come on in already! Let me take your case."

At those last words, she bustled forward when the other man entered the house to then determinedly remove that same small container from the grip of their new guest. Glancing down at what she was holding, the girl delightedly squealed at reading what was lettered on the suitcase's side, "Elizabeth Arden Cosmetics!"

With a polite nod, the stranger confirmed, "Yep, ma'am, I'm in that line, going to stores to show off my samples. I'll let you look at them later, if you like."

Hearing his only child's gleeful giggle at this unexpected opportunity, the girl's father knew that it was now the perfect time to once again raise the slight difficulty regarding anyone who had to remain overnight in their small house. However, now that the ice had been broken instead of coming out with the problem right away as with the other potential guest, it seemed likely that this occasion wouldn't end so inexplicably.

Clearing his throat, the farmer informed the traveling salesman, "Young feller, you're welcome to stay the night, but since we've got only two bedrooms here, you'll have to sleep with my daughter."


	3. Chapter 3

At the moment, Buffy Summers was having a wonderful time letting out her unabashed mean streak. The young lady's viciousness was normally well-concealed from a world which when it looked at this specific Slayer only saw then a pretty face, a sexy body, and always among her stylish clothing a pair of shoes in the latest fashion simply to die for. It should be kept in mind, though, even before becoming the latest daughter of Sineya that a certain fifteen-year-old girl didn't achieve the title of Queen of Hemery High by being all sweetness and light to her cowering subjects. Nope, whatever her age, it took a first-class bitch to accomplish this feat.

In a wretched hive of scum and villainy (copyrighted), Buffy brutally punched Willy with stunning force right between his eyes. The Alibi Room's rat-like owner and bartender would've ordinarily been sent sailing backwards through the air by the force of this tremendous blow to then slam painfully against the rear wall of Sunnydale's seediest demon bar. Except, Buffy's other hand was inexorably clutching with iron-hard fingers onto Willy's upper right shoulder, holding him helplessly in place over the bar counter which he'd been dragged forwards onto mere seconds before.

Waiting impatiently until her interrogation victim for tonight had recovered the teensiest bit, Buffy declared into his glazed expression, "Willy, just because I haven't been here for a while, it doesn't mean you've got a free pass for not talking to me when I ask you questions!"

To emphasize her final words (and just because it was so much fun), Buffy decked Willy again.

Scattered throughout the rest of the bar, this supernatural drinking place had its remaining few unearthly customers there at the other tables now hunched over their orders while otherwise remaining apprehensively motionless lest they capture the Slayer's cranky notice. Three small heaps of ashes and a widening puddle of goo on the saloon's grimy floor showed where a trio of vampires and one completely innocent demon bystander had already made this fatal mistake.

Confident those jerks behind her wouldn't dare to try anything, Buffy then demanded from a whimpering Willy, "So what's going lately in the north warehouse section by the docks? All last week, there's been a lot more disappearances there than usual, even for Sunnydale!"

Without moving a muscle, all the listening unholy creature at their seats mentally shifted into alerted attention. For some reason (possibly due to the constant over-indulgence in applying excessive amounts of blonde hair dye which had a genuinely deleterious effect upon her intelligence), the Slayer never considered that loudly asking such questions before a crowd of suddenly intrigued fiends might give these same monsters a hint or two as to the where, when, what, why, and who those meddling kids known as the Scooby Gang were going after next. Indeed, the eavesdropping demons were already totting up inside their deformed heads exactly which of the town's Big Bads they could sell that little tidbit of information freely bestowed to them a moment ago.

This same oblivious girl giving her captive another good smack in the face for not answering fast enough also evidently never realized this was why a specific snitch was allowed to exist in the first place by the local criminal community. Willy was the perfect person to feed Buffy Summers the proper Hellmouth rumors, gossip, and other word of mouth intelligence in order to keep the Slayer occupied by going after the town's low-level demon villains while the more upper-class nasty pieces of work could carry out their own evil schemes in decent peace and quiet. In turn, that weaselly individual at present shoved back onto his feet and then getting his head pounded hard against the top of the counter in between bouts of pained whining was permitted to both stay alive and in business running Willy's Alibi Room.

Everybody else of the dark side now in the bar also felt it wasn't any scales off their frontal nasal projections over _how_ much that underhanded, short-changing, little shit of a human got beaten to a pulp during an average of twice a month by the Slayer. No, far more interesting was the prospect of scoring some serious cash for being the first one to pass onto any interested parties this latest news.

Swiveling its half-dozen eyes as one towards the other monstrous patrons there, to then at where the young warrior woman across the room was engrossed with yelling into Willy's cringing face already blossoming with heavy bruising, and finally at the nearby front door of the bar, an unfortunate decision was made by a dead-broke demon. Surreptitiously arising from its seat, an equally furtive sidle was made by this fiend toward the exit. Once it was outside, then the next thing to do was to find the closest customer with the deepest pockets and tell them-

During one more step made by the departing demon leaving as quietly as possible, Buffy continued to maliciously describe Willy's family tree by mentioning how many times his ancestors had clearly somehow bred with the Rodentia family in the past. Without pausing in this obnoxious speech or even looking behind herself, the Slayer reached with blurring speed with her free hand into a pocket of her designer jeans, pulled out from there a slim knife, and she flipped this weapon over her shoulder in a single quick motion.

Moving too fast to be dodged, this thrown knife hurtling through the air sank to its hilt into the topmost eye of the multi-orbed demon trying to sneak out without being noticed by Buffy. Yeah, like that'd ever happen, especially with all the reflective surfaces of the bottles in front of her giving the Slayer a perfect chance to stay aware of all that went on at her back. Smirking at the heavy _thump!_ made by the collapsing corpse of her latest kill onto the bar's floor, a pleased blonde then haughtily declared into Willy's paling countenance that unless he spilled everything else he knew, this creep was gonna be really, really sorry!

However…

Before Willy could even begin talking, an entirely different occurrence then took place, causing Buffy to freeze in rare astonishment during it all.

From the gap at between the end of the bar counter and the far wall where the person serving drinks could walk out from behind this furniture into the larger portion of the room, a very strange beast now appeared. Scuttling on all fours towards the monster lying lifelessly there just before it would've dissolved into non-existence as was normal for Sunnydale demons, this new and very unique animal with a thick coating of unnaturally bright mustard-colored skin and a stubby form came to a halt next to the unmoving corpse.

Jaws the width of a manhole cover and filled with a good many sharp teeth then gaped wide open, only to promptly clamp shut onto the demon's whole head including the knife still sticking out from there. Paying no mind to this weapon, the incredible beast then started backing up on all four clawed feet. Easily dragging along the entire body of a deceased demon, the only sign of any possible exertion felt by the beast were a series of soft whistles coming from the upper nostrils of the blunt muzzle, all of these sounds sent at the otherwise silent room's occupants watching this with utter fascination throughout everything.

Eventually, both the beast and its towed burden disappeared behind the bar counter. A few seconds later, distinct chewing and crunching noises issuing from there announced that for something, dinner had just been served!

Soon overriding these ghastly sounds was Buffy's very wary question directed at the bleeding man still in her unyielding clutch, "Willy, what the _hell_ is that?!"

Spitting out a tooth fragment, the Alibi Bar's owner sullenly responded, "My dog."

There was a pause.

With total incredulity creeping into her tone, Buffy repeated, "Your…dog."

Regaining some control over his aching neck muscles which had caused his skull to feebly droop in a girl's grip, Willy gave an actual self-righteous nod. This newfound pride was also evident in what came next from him, "Yeah, first one I ever had. His name's Rover, of course."

Buffy's own voice was now absolutely flat. "You named your dog Rover, is that right?"

Peering out from between a already-swelling pair of eyelids which were soon about to develop into a magnificent set of black eyes, Willy just sent the Slayer a puzzled glance, as if wondering what was so hard to believe about that. He, along with the entire bar, and undoubtedly the entire surrounding neighborhood quickly learned otherwise.

Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Buffy bellowed, "THAT'S NOT A DOG!"

When the echoes of this stopped ringing throughout the room, a stubborn Willy insisted, "Is too!"

Glaring at the snitch acting all like he wasn't aware of how dangerous it was to disagree with her, Buffy snapped, "Oh, no, it isn't! For one, no dog looks like that, as if somebody poured over it a couple gallons of the same kind of totally garish cheap mustard that gets slathered over the franks you buy at a ballpark!"

"Hey!" Willy protested with genuine resentment. "That's my favorite color, thank you very much!"

From behind the bickering pair, one of the demons sitting alone at its table interjected in a deep rumble, "Yeah, seeing how Willy's teeth are the same shade as Rover's fur, it was probably love at first sight for them both."

Simultaneously glancing over and glowering at this unwanted offering from the peanut gallery, Buffy and Willy then heard a sharp _crack!_ coming from lower down and behind the counter. Apparently, the discussed animal being passed off as the barkeep's canine had now gotten to consuming one of its meal's thighbones, which had just been bitten in half with a single chomp.

This realization produced from Buffy a determined, "I don't care what you say, it's got to be something else than a completely ordinary pooch! Those pets are perfectly fine with eating canned dog food, not chowing down on demons!"

Looking past a triumphant Slayer convinced she'd made her point at last, Willy paid no attention to Buffy. Instead, he directed a snaggle-toothed leer at his unearthly customers scattered throughout the room. Besides proving the horrible truth of a recent slur upon this man's complete lack of dental hygiene, this was accompanied by Willy's snickered, "Rover's such a good boy! Besides saving me money on what to feed him, my dog makes sure nobody pushes me around now!"

Okay, that was _it._

Effortlessly yanking Willy again over the counter with her hand still holding onto his shoulder, Buffy stood there nearly nose-to-nose with this once more alarmed barkeep, who really shouldn't have said this last. Observing how Willy's overconfidence had quickly changed back into proper fear of her, a newly smug Buffy started to get things back to normal with more intimidation and punches, until she was abruptly interrupted.

With the piercing sound of a thick steam pipe spraying outwards its contents after it'd been accidentally punctured, a tremendous _HISSSSSS!_ resounded throughout the bar. This scary noise came from exactly where Rover was lurking in concealment while seeing its owner being in peril from a taken-aback Slayer.

Casting a cautious gaze at where that weird animal had previously emerged from behind the counter, Buffy sensibly kept her eyes aimed there lest she be caught by surprise in any attempt by Rover to defend his master-

Oh, boy, now she was _thinking_ it was a real dog!

Still holding Willy off the floor, Buffy didn't turn her head while insisting one last time, "Listen, you little jerk, that damn thing didn't growl or bark at me just now like a real dog would! I've had about enough of this! You either tell the truth about no-way-it's-Rover, or I'll-"

In the middle of her unfinished threat, a disapproving voice came from behind. From out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw this speaker was the same demon who'd earlier insulted Willy. With growing amazement, she heard this monster declare, "Dogs are really good judges of character, Slayer. Rover knows you're being mean to his owner, and otherwise acting like you're not a dog person."

"_What?!_" yelped Buffy.

In her further shock, she let go of Willy (who promptly slid backwards off the counter and dropped out of sight behind this furniture), to then whirl around and confront the demon who'd just said that. Angrily placing her fists upon her hips, Buffy retorted to the room at large, "I am too a dog person! They love me and I love them! The same goes for cats and horses, even when I couldn't have any for pets because Daddy was totally allergic to animal hair! He even had such a bad case of this that I needed to shower at the stables after my riding lessons before coming home!"

This didn't seem to impress anybody there, who were each and every one regarding Buffy with evident condemnation shown by various misshapen features. Grinding her teeth in frustration, Buffy then grouchily straightened up, sent an evil look at the staring demons, and then stalked off towards the front door with an air of affronted dignity. Past the portal, she slammed it shut hard behind herself while leaving, in one final bit of spiteful revenge.

Waiting a few more minutes to make sure that scary girl wasn't coming back or otherwise hanging around to listen on what was about to be said, the spokesdemon thoughtfully eyed where Willy had struggled onto his feet and pulled out a medical kit from behind the bar.

Beginning to patch himself up, the battered proprietor then heard an impatient, "Okay, Willy, enough's enough. It was a lot of fun to mess with the Slayer's mind, which has to be the whole reason you instantly made up the Rover scam in the first place, but bets are at stake here. Now, like you promised to tell right before she barged in, exactly what kind of animal is it you've got there?"

Tenderly placing a bandage across his throbbing nose, Willy nevertheless sent a victorious smirk at the waiting demons. In the end, he straightforwardly admitted, "Well, before I cut off the tail and painted him yellow, Rover was an alligator."


	4. Chapter 4

Even if she hadn't already been in such a grumpy mood at the time, Anya was also noted for her utter indifference to the ongoing interpersonal relationships among the others of the Scooby Gang. So when Willow and Tara showed up one day at the Magic Box, the former vengeance demon promptly put these college students to work as unpaid labor in tidying up the place. Then, Anya went back to glaring at the shop ledgers opened up and scattered along the store's back counter. In her chair behind the cash register while contemplating with evident loathing the financial records laid out before this blonde woman, Anya paid no attention to how Tara straightening out the stacks of blessed candles standing tall in their bases on one shelf abruptly broke out into a fit of giggles.

Neither did somebody once known as Aud of Sjornjost even bother to notice how in turn Willow on the other side of the store halted in her menial task of sweeping the floor to next glare at where this redhead's lesbian lover was still laughing out loud.

Instead, Anya reached out to angrily slam shut the front cover of the nearest shop ledger. The sharp _Bang!_ of this action was followed by the proprietor of the Magic Box ominously declaring to nobody in particular, "Business is terrible!"

Scowling at the two other people there in the store as if it was their own fault she wasn't making sufficient obscene profits to put any robber baron in the shade, Anya's annoyed expression then turned into thoughtful calculation. Continuing to moodily stare at where Willow and Tara were now both eyeing her in their own sudden caution, Anya imperiously declared, "All right, since you're here, do either of you have any ideas on how I can attract more customers to this dump?"

For some reason, _that_ made Tara lean against the shop shelf, ecstatically give herself a delighted hug, and start guffawing at the top of her lungs. Eventually, she gasped out to a bewildered Anya, "Well, have you ever thought of providing some sort of entertainment for the customers? Just ask Willow about it; she'll be more than thrilled to show you what she accidentally magicked up last night instead of what was really intended!"

After saying this, Tara went back to her happy place, continuing to chortle with pleasure while ignoring Anya's growing exasperation about the other's whole strange behavior. Seeing she'd have no chance for any kind of rational explanation from there, the income-obsessed woman then glanced over at where Willow was standing motionless in the shop. After a few more moments, Anya grudged, "Okay, the blush on your face has got to be some kind of record in duration, extent and color, but I seriously doubt people will pay good cash money to come here just for that! What's going on?"

Still bearing upon her visage the deep red color of a ripe tomato, Willow first sent an irritated glower towards at where Tara was even now sniggering. At length reluctantly meeting Anya's impatient gaze, a bisexual witch well on her way to becoming one of the most powerful magic-casters on earth groped for the proper words.

"Um...ah...It's like this, all right? A month or so back, we decided to spice up things a little in our love life, so a special night every week was set aside by us both, where we could share new...stuff with each other. It was also agreed beforehand that no matter what either of us proposed, even if we didn't particularly want to go through it, we'd still give it a decent try without being completely grossed out."

At that point, Willow was fixedly studying the shop floor, all to avoid Anya's incredulous look, while she further mumbled, "It was my turn last night, and I _still_ don't know what went wrong!"

"What are you talking about?" Anya demanded suspiciously.

Accompanied by the sound of Tara's gleeful laughter starting up again, Willow heaved a deep sigh. Without lifting her head, the Wiccan pointed her right hand at the store counter next to where Anya was sitting. In a show of her immense personal magic, a white ray of light shot from Willow's fingertips to that spot across the room, which instantly produced there...a miniature adult man no more than a foot high and dressed in a natty tuxedo outfit. This newcomer's dark black clothing perfectly matched both the wooden bench on which he was seated and the equally-diminutive Steinway piano before him which had also materialized onto the counter.

Anya gaped in total shock at what'd just appeared from out of thin air. Her astonishment only increased at how the little man then came to life, grinned at the gawking thousand-year-old girl, and then with a grand flourish he started to play the piano.

Listening with awe, Anya soon identified the various musical genres of classical, jazz, rock, and other performances being expertly delivered by the tiny artist. However, right in the middle of a jaunty version of 'Take the A Train', both the musician and his instrument abruptly vanished from sight, leaving nothing behind but for a few stray notes tinkling in the shop air.

"Hey, wait!" immediately protested Anya. "Put him back right now! He'll be absolutely perfect, something that can't help but bring in the crowds here who'll clean out every bit of my stock while they're enjoying the show!"

Wilting under Anya's fierce expression of total greed being directed right at her, Willow wailed, "I can't! For some reason, maybe because it didn't work right in the first place, that spell doesn't last for more than five minutes at one time, and it won't start all over again for at least a couple more hours no matter what I do!"

From where she'd slowly sunk to the floor in her incessant mirth, Tara seated tailor-fashion there then piped up much too cheerfully in Willow's jaundiced opinion, "From what I've heard, that sounds like the normal outcome, besides. So, it doesn't bother me all that much, how it turned out to be a big-" This last word finished off with another eruption of hilarity by Tara, followed by a spluttering, "-mistake."

Well afterwards, Anya assured herself she'd been distracted by mourning a lost opportunity for making the biggest ever fortune with that little guy. Regardless, her next question unthinkingly delivered then would cause Anya to thereafter shut up about the whole subject, lest not only those other two people there in the Magic Box who'd heard this unwise inquiry but all the other Scoobies in turn learning of this would forever tease her about it.

Nonetheless, before her brain caught up with her mouth, Anya blankly asked Willow, "Just why did you want a twelve-inch pianist, anyway?"


	5. Chapter 5

Several weeks after arriving at Sunnydale to take up the mantle of a full Watcher, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was warily walking well past midnight through one of that California city's many graveyards. Adding to the usual extreme danger of this, the young man was at the moment completely on his own without any bit of backup from Miss Lehane, Miss Summers, or anyone else from the small group nicknamed the Scooby Gang who knew about and fought against their hometown's vampires and other supernatural monsters.

There was an actual reason for Wesley's reckless actions tonight, all due to his discomfited awareness that he was indeed far too inexperienced and unproven for the vast responsibility of being in charge of a Slayer. However, there was no possible way he was about to come right out and admit this to the same people for which Wesley had already earlier managed to set speed records at thoroughly pissing them off by all his recent fussy, pompous, and high-handed behavior.

Floundering around for some way to prove to these offended associates that he was in fact a proper Watcher, Wesley eventually came up with a quite clever plan to impress Mr. Giles and the others by performing a Sunnydale patrol all by himself late one night. Afterwards, he'd let slip this daring accomplishment during one of the group's meetings at the high school library, and then make a modest acknowledgement on how well his fellow defenders of humanity had carried out the same perilous tasks. This would hopefully send a signal to them that Wesley was offering everyone a discreet apology without diminishing too much his dignity and authority. Perhaps it would then lead to a desired outcome in which Wesley's status was no longer viewed as lower than a leper by the rest of the Scoobies. That specific snubbing definitely included Miss Chase...

Pausing in the dark, silent, and seemingly deserted graveyard still managing to give off a truly menacing air all too common to the Hellmouth's environs, Wesley began to wonder if this was really such a good idea. Mind you, there hadn't been a single confrontation here yet with any form of bellicose demon (or even a disinterested much less a friendly one), but that didn't mean things couldn't become most unpleasant for him at any time-

From behind, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his right shoulder.

With his terrified heart now in his mouth, Wesley abruptly spun around on both feet in a half-circle to see where that unexpected touch had just come from without any prior warning. He ended up staring nearly nose-to-nose with a nearby vampire in game face.

A midget vampire in game face who was standing atop an adjacent tombstone in order to match the much-taller Watcher's eye level.

A _Scots_ midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt.

A Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt who then swung with blurring speed a diminutive fist right into Wesley's face.

A few moments later while lying flat on his back onto the grass, a dazed Wesley with a throbbing jaw felt a weight land lightly upon his chest. The young Englishman blearily opened his eyes to observe the Scots midget vampire now perched with bare feet at that specific portion of Wesley's body after hopping from the tombstone. The bizarre little creature of the night was looking down at him with an expression of thorough disgust borne on his own misshapen demonic features, all while keeping his hands exasperatedly resting on his hips.

In a thick Caledonian accent, this vampire irritably told Wesley, "Och, laddie, that were awfu' pathetic! Be awa' wi' yeh, I'm no' in the mood for takin' the life of such a Sassenach glaikit sumph."

With that last contemptuous insult, the kilted vampire leapt off Wesley and scampered away into the night without another word, leaving behind the bewildered human dismissively gifted with his survival. Wesley eventually got up, staggered out of the graveyard, and reached his new apartment elsewhere in town without any further trouble. There, however, he glanced at the bathroom mirror to wince at the substantial, colorful bruise already forming onto and taking up most of his lower visage. Dry-swallowing a few aspirins straight out of the bottle, the neophyte Watcher gloomily wondered how the Scoobies were going to react tomorrow at school to that souvenir of yet another ludicrous blunder by him.

They didn't.

Nobody said anything. Not Mr. Giles, his Slayer, _Wesley's_ Slayer, Xander, Willow, Cordelia, et al. Instead, everyone in the Sunnydale High Library the next morning acted around the newcomer from England as if he wasn't actually there, much less appearing to have lost a match with a pro boxer in just one punch. Even if he hadn't wanted to talk about it in the first place, all of this unconcerned behavior by the others throughout the rest of the day still slowly ignited a sense of honest outrage within Wesley's mind at this complete indifference directed towards him. Well, he'd show them!

The subsequent night, Wesley stalked through the same graveyard as before where there'd been such a preposterous chance meeting with a little monster who was going to pay for it, see if he wouldn't! His gripped crossbow was cocked, loaded, and ready to send its wooden bolt through that blasted Scots titch's unbeating heart. Except, in all the ensuing and methodical search, Wesley found no trace whatsoever of his quarry. At length coming back to the same spot in the center of the cemetery where he'd already investigated this three times already without any success, the Watcher stopped to glance around in the darkness-

From behind, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his left shoulder.

In the course of seemingly a single second, Mr. Wyndam-Pyice levitated straight up a good yard, let out a little-girl shriek of fright, gave a panicked squeeze of the crossbow trigger which uselessly sent off with a _Twang!_ sound the arrow disappearing into the distance ahead, and spun around in mid-air. He landed on his feet just in time to receive an identical potent clout in his right eye from the tiny fist of the Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt and standing atop yet another tombstone.

A few moments later while again lying flat on his back onto the ground, a dazed Wesley with an aching head once more felt a weight land lightly upon his chest. The young Englishman blearily opened his sole working eye to observe the Scots midget vampire now perched at that portion of Wesley's body for a second time. Though, in this case, the pint-sized vampire in his lower, knee-length, wraparound tartan garment was sadly regarding Wesley while slowly shaking his head.

The graveyard then heard a doleful announcement delivered by a former inhabitant of the region north of Hadrian's Wall, "Laddie, that time were even wuuuurse! Have yeh no' heard of at least _tryin'?_"

The following morning, Buffy, Giles, Faith, and the other three Sunnydale natives totally ignored how Wesley sat in the shadows of the far corner of the school library, thoroughly sulking in the chair there with his magnificent black eye.

Right after sunset, Wesley stormed into a certain graveyard all tooled up for anything this side of the Normandy invasion. He had a crossbow in both hands, holstered canteens filled with holy water attached onto a belt around his hips, another belt with a half-dozen sheathed stakes carved to a needle point running diagonally along his chest, and dangling from a necklace was a gaudy crucifix which the pop star Madonna would've considered positively excessive.

This time a furious human kept his weapons aimed directly at the top of each and every tombstone until these slabs of granite were scrupulously checked for his adversary. All to no avail; there didn't seem to be the slightest trace of that hated foe-

From ahead, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his right kneecap.

The startled Watcher looked down at a Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt, just before the miniature demon standing in front of Wesley then inflicted upon this young human an expert headbutt. Though, given the disparity in their sizes, the vampire's Glasgow Kiss delivered with tremendous force didn't finish with the collision together of two skulls but rather ended in a vigorous impact precisely onto Wesley's unprotected groin.

Eventually, the Watcher's total agony lessened sufficiently for him to weakly peer out from where he was lying curled up in a ball upon the graveyard grass. Tears still dripping down his face, Wesley just barely noticed how that vampire was waiting a few feet away, all while thoughtfully regarding the defeated human.

However, the young Englishman's absolute attention was then immediately captured by that Scots fiend's next satisfied declaration about solving a minor bothersome mystery regarding not just tonight's meeting but also their two previous encounters. This cheerful statement made to a horrified Wesley was likewise accompanied by the height-challenged vampire reaching for the waistband of the kilt it was wearing while amiably saying, "Laddie, yer no' here for the fightin', are yeh?"


End file.
